The jongleur swept a calculating eye over the two speeding vessels. Aboard the galley all was quiet. The decks of the cog were crowded with disorderly groups whose lamentations rose momentarily louder.
"We have some small chance, Hugh," he said calmly. "The galley is swift and in this light wind will easily overtake us. 'Tis a question only of time, to be protracted somewhat by skill in ship-handling."
Hugh nodded.
"We are beginning our adventures earlier than had been my expectation. To say truth, I see not what we may do, save it be to make a good end."
"Nay, we are not yet in that plight. I have a plan. Messer Shipman, bid one of your fellows bring me a half-keg of tar, and you have such a commodity in your stores. Eke a barrel of oil."
The shipman goggled at him.
"It shall be done, fair sir," he answered finally. "Ah, good my lords, I pray you save us from these demons of corsairs. They will flay us alive, an we do not accept their Al-Koran—or belike they will slay us anyway for sufficiency of slaves to pull at their oars. Do but——"
"Silence," interrupted Matteo. "You talk like a woman—or a Greek. Have you arms for your crew?"
"Some few."
"Then do you serve them out. Make haste. And fetch me the tar and oil."